As We Fell
by Buddhahead
Summary: Johnlock, omegaverse, mpreg, post-Reichenbach, angst. I think that's all the warnings. I don't know how to write a summary, just go read the flippin' story.
1. Chapter 1

_More Johnlock mpreg for your pleasure/annoyance. This will be about 3 chapters. My previous one 'Months' was set in some kind of AU (I don't even fucking know when it was set, I didn't think about it) where "The Fall" never happened, so I wanted to do one that followed the TV series' storyline. Sort of. _

* * *

Sherlock glanced over to John from his microscope.

His lover was sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room with a laptop on his knees, typing away.

Typing with only one hand to be accurate, the other one rested on his swollen stomach, absentmindedly rubbing it.

Sherlock felt a lump rise in his throat as he observed the man.

He could feel his 'alpha instincts' surfacing everytime he looked at his pregnant mate. He felt the overwhelming need to protect them.

It was a new sensation to him. He had for long thought he was incapable of experiencing these ancient 'instincts'.

Or, to put it in another way, he had feared he wouldn't feel anything.

John leaned back in the chair, flinching a bit and rubbing his side.

He looked at Sherlock's direction to see the alpha staring right back at him, mesmerized.

"It's okay," John smiled at him, thinking that his expression was why Sherlock was staring at him. "The little one's kicks are just starting to get stronger."

He smiled lovingly down at his belly.

Sherlock rose up and walked over to him. He didn't really know why, he just felt like it.

He knelt down before John and reached out his hand to touch John's stomach.

A grin spread on his face as he felt movements under his palm.

A text message sound buzzed.

"Sherlock…the phone…" John said, staring at the man drawing invisible patterns on his bump.

"Yes, it keeps doing that," the detective answered not even lifting his gaze.

John sighed and reached to Sherlock's jacket pocket to pick up his mobile.

"I'll get that then, shall I?"

When he read the message, his face paled.

"Sherlock…" he said, voice slightly trembling.

"Hmmh?"

"He's back."

* * *

"Look up."

John lifted his gaze to see Sherlock standing on top of St. Bartholomew's.

"I can't come down, so we have to do it like this."

John could feel panic rising inside him. Sherlock sounded so hopeless.

"What's going on?"

"An apology."

There was a pause. John could barely progress the words he was hearing.

"It's true. Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

John couldn't believe it. Not for a second.

"Why are you saying this?" he said, his tone of voice unable to hide the despair.

"I'm a fake, and I want you to tell that to Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson… our son…"

Unconsciously, John placed on hand on his protruding middle.

"Okay, shut up Sherlock, shut up," he snapped.

"First time we met you knew all about me…"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could."

Sherlock let out a nervous laugh. It sounded like he was crying. John could feel his heart shatter into little pieces.

"I researched you, I found out everything I could about you. It's a magic trick John, just a magic trick."

John had had enough.

"Stop it now, I'm coming in."

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed desperately. "Stay where you are and keep your eyes fixed on me!"

"Okay…" John said, now too scared to move.

"Please… will you do this for me…?" Sherlock's voice pleaded.

"Do what?"

"This phone call… is my note…That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note…"

"Leave a note when?" John said, now in full on panic.

He knew when people left notes. He just chose not to believe that was what Sherlock was talking about.

"Goodbye John… I love you… I love you both."

"No…Don't…" John managed to say.

* * *

The next thing he remembered was running as fast as he could with his 7 months pregnant belly in the way towards the man lying on the ground.

He remembered vaguely grabbing Sherlock's wrist as other people tried to pull him away.

There was no pulse.

After that his memory of the next few days was hazy.

He somehow got back to the flat, but couldn't remember how.

He remembered Mrs. Hudson taking care of him, when he was too crippled by pain to function.

He went back to his therapist but couldn't remember anything he told her.

Eventually it got a bit better.

He organized Sherlock's funeral with Mrs. Hudson's help about a month after his death.

* * *

"I'm angry," John huffed as he stood in front of the grave stone with Mrs. Hudson.

He felt the woman wrap her hand around his arm.

"It's alright John, that's how he made everyone feel… all the marks on my table, the noise… bloody specimens in my fridge, imagine just…"

John wanted nothing more but for Mrs. Hudson to shut up at that point. Of course she didn't do it on purpose, but everything she said just reminded him more about Sherlock.

"Okay I'm not angry…" he said, even though he was angrier than anyone could ever understand.

"Okay… I'll leave you alone, will you be alright?" she said, gesturing at John's middle.

John nodded sternly. He was 8 ½ months pregnant and Mrs. Hudson fussed over him constantly. It was annoying, but John was also glad about it. He could've not managed alone.

Sometimes John feared the child would look like Sherlock. He wasn't sure if he could be able to live with that kind of daily reminder.

The woman walked away, sniffing.

He took a few steps towards the grave.

"You told me once you weren't a hero… and there were times when I didn't even think you were human…" he said, in a shaky voice.

"…but let me tell you, you were the best man, the most human…human being…and no one will ever convince me you told a lie…"

He placed a hand on top of the stone.

"I'm naming him Hamish…Hope that's okay with you…? It's a name that's been in my family… I…" he took a few deep breaths.

"I was so alone when I met you, and you made me the happiest person on earth by becoming my bondmate… and gave me a family…and I owe you so much."

He turned to walk away, feeling like he couldn't take it any longer.

"Just one more thing," he said, turning to face the grave again. "Just one more miracle for me Sherlock, just… don't be dead."

He felt tears forming in his eyes again.

"Just for me… for us…" he said, placing a hand on his bump.

"Stop this."

He took more deep breaths, feeling the emotions which he had managed to keep in bay for the whole day breaking out.

After a few heaving sobs, he managed to turn around and started walking towards the cemetery gates.

* * *

Halfway there, he felt a cramp grip his stomach.

John stopped, clutching his middle and took a deep breath before continuing walking.

He had been feeling strange pains all day, but was simply too depressed to take notice or care.

As he reached the gates, he leaned on the stone wall, panting.

The pang of pain surged through him again, this time it was so strong it made John finally realize what was happening.

"Oh shit…" he muttered, frantically scanning the area. He could see no people. Mrs. Hudson had probably already left.

Suddenly, he could feel something warm trickle down his trouser leg.

"Oh nononono, fuck, shit," he cursed, realizing his water had broken.

Another contraction hit him, and he fell on his knees to the ground, groaning in pain.

His vision started to spin.

Passing out while in labour on a church yard was not a very good plan, he thought to himself, before everything became blurry.

Just before everything went completely black, he could see a face hovering over him.

It was familiar Very familiar.

"Sherlock…" John mumbled, before passing out.

* * *

_So... What do you think?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry it's a bit short, the final chapter is gon be long._

* * *

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling like his eyelids weighed a ton.

He stared at the white blank ceiling before him, wondering where he was.

Then the familiar smell of anestheptics lingered into his nose.

He was in a hospital.

John tried to hoist himself to sit up from the bed he was lying, only to be greeted by an intense pain in his lower abdomen.

He cried out and placed a hand on his stomach.

Then he remembered. He had been in the cemetery; his water had broken, now he was at the hospital…

He slid his hand down his belly.

It was still inflated… but empty.

And he could feel stitches going across his waist.

* * *

"What the…" he croaked.

"Emergency C- section, I'm told," a voice responded.

John turned his head, startled by the sudden noise.

Mycroft was sitting on a chair beside his bed.

"Oh," was all John could think to say.

Then a horrible thought hit him.

"Where is he?"

He was almost scared to ask. What if something had happened? He couldn't bare the thought of losing both his son and his boyfriend.

Mycroft gave him a weird look before gesturing towards the small crib that stood against the wall.

"Oh."

He tried to get up but the pain was too much.

"Can you pick him up for me please?" John said, reaching out his hands.

Mycroft looked annoyed. "John, I'm not too fond of chi…"

"Give him to me," John ordered.

Mycroft snorted and walked over to the crib. John could see his hands were clearly shaking when he picked up the small creature and handed him over to John.

The small boy was sleeping peacefully. He definitely had John's hair and skin tone.

John burst into tears watching the baby.

"Hi Hamish," he sniffed. "You're the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen…"

He kissed the child gently on the head.

Suddenly the little eyes opened, staring right at him. John couldn't help but gasp, as the eyes were exactly the same shade of grey-blue as Sherlock's.

"… too bad your papa isn't here to see you," he smiled sadly, cradling Hamish close to his chest.

Then he suddenly realized something.

"Mycroft," he breathed. "I think… I think I saw Sherlock."

If Mycroft had been drinking something, he would've spilled it.

"W-what?"

"In the cemetery, when I passed out, I swear I saw his face!"

"John…" Mycroft sighed. "…he's dead."

John was quiet for a moment.

"I know," he whispered, sounding utterly broken. "But still…"

Mycroft gave him a faint smile, and stood up.

"I must go, I'll alert the nurse that you're awake," he said before walking out.

John nodded barely registering what he was told, because he was too lost in his thoughts and admiring his newborn son.

* * *

_You idiot –MH_

_Are you sure you mean me? –SH_

_John saw you. I told you not to spy on him –MH_

_He was lying on the ground in pain! What was I supposed to do? Leave him there? –SH_

_Yes -MH_

_Well, he will most likely think it was a hallucination. How is he, or they, rather? –SH_

_The child is completely fine… John is physically fine, but I wouldn't count on his mental health. The man is heartbroken. Have I told you how stupid this plan of yours is by the way, dear brother?-MH_

_You mean the one with hunting down the whole web of Moriarty's henchmen all over the world, all by myself? - SH_

_Firstly, it'll take years, secondly, it's pointless. Once you cut out the snake's head, it can't function anymore. –MH_

_You're wrong. Already Moriarty's second in command, Sebastian Moran, has started to gather his own criminal empire. The snake grows a new head. And we don't even know if Moriarty's really dead. There was no body found on the roof. -SH _

_It seems that I can't convince you otherwise... –MH_

* * *

_You owe me. A review. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Daddy!" a small boy exclaimed as he saw John in the doorway.

The 3-year-old ran towards him. Halfway through he tripped over his own feet and landed face down before John.

Instant crying followed.

"God, are you alright?" John smiled soothingly, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around his son.

He couldn't help but be reminded about the way Sherlock used to suddenly get excited and sprint up, before falling flat on his face.

"Yeah," the boy sniffed. He looked much more like John than Sherlock on the outside, with his blonde hair, but he definitely had many of Sherlock's characteristics.

Sherlock.

He had been dead for 3 years now. Sometimes John still believed he had seen the man that at the cemetery, even though everyone told him he had been imagining things.

"Good… You see why I told you not to run inside?"

The boy nodded, getting back up to his feet.

John thanked Ms. Hudson for looking after Hamish, before settling about making dinner.

Then he heard his phone's text message sound.

He thought it was probably something work- related, as he picked up the phone.

Unknown number.

As he clicked to open the message, he couldn't help but gasp aloud.

_Hi, John –SH_

'This can't be true, it's has to be some kind of a sick joke,' John thought to himself, trying to calm his pulse.

_Who's this? -JW _

_It's me, John; please open the door –SH_

* * *

He grabbed his Browning and swung the door open.

His eyes shot wide open and he dropped the gun on the floor.

Sherlock Holmes was standing in the doorway.

"I know this might be quite a shock to you, but please do stay conscious," he said, giving John a faint smile.

The doctor reached out his hand and touched Sherlock's coat. He almost expected his hand to go through it, but when it didn't he gasped.

"Sherlock…" he breathed.

"Yes, in the fl…" was as far as the detective got in his sentence, before being punched in the face.

He stumbled backwards, moaning in pain.

"You arsehole! You utter prick!" John yelled, not caring about his hurting hand. "How could you!? How on earth… you…" his voice trailed off, as tears started streaming down on his face.

Sherlock stepped closer to him, one hand on his cheek where the punch had hit.

"I deserve every bit of this John, but please let me explain…"

"EXPLAIN?! I don't think there is a good enough reason for faking your own death and leaving your family to grieve!"

"I didn't want to John, I really didn't…" Sherlock pleaded. "Moriarty had snipers… He was going to kill you if I hadn't jumped! I spent three years destroying and hunting down his criminal web! Only so you'd be safe…"

In his heart John knew that Sherlock was being honest. He knew that he would've done the same if Sherlock's life had been threatened, but the anger was consuming him…

"Fuck you," he snarled wiping his cheeks. "I was pregnant… I needed you; Hamish needed you…"

Sherlock stood there silently for a moment.

"Would it be possible to see my son…?"

"He's not your son!" John shouted. "You may be his biological father, but he's not your son! You can't just walk in after three years and think we can be a goddamn family again! It doesn't work like that!"

Sherlock felt like someone had ripped his heart from his chest.

* * *

Suddenly, a small voice spoke from the corner of the living room. "Daddy?"

Both men turned around to see Hamish standing there, looking quite scared.

John cursed in his mind. He shouldn't have yelled in front of a child.

"It's alright love…" he said, walking over to the small boy and ruffling his blonde hair.

"Who's he?" Hamish asked, hiding behind one of John's legs, peering at the tall dark-haired stranger.

John glanced at Sherlock, who was standing very still, staring mesmerized at the child.

"He's…" John said, pausing for a moment. "…your papa."

Hamish frowned. "…but my papa's dead," he said, looking up at John.

"I… I was…" Sherlock mumbled, stepping closer to his son. "…but I'm back now… Hamish…"

The boy's eyes widened. "Really?"

Sherlock knelt down in front of the boy. "Yes," he smiled.

"Cool!" Hamish exclaimed before jumping on to Sherlock, almost knocking over the surprised detective.

Sherlock pulled the boy closer and embraced him, feeling tears starting to for in his eyes.

"Ugh… You're suffocating me papa," the child chuckled.

"Sorry…" Sherlock said shakily, pulling the boy slightly away, tears now falling freely.

"Are you sad?" Hamish asked, cocking his head to the side.

"No, Hamish, I'm…" Sherlock breathed. He had dreamed about this moment for the past three years. "…really happy to finally meet you…and I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, but please know that I love you regardless."

He stood up, trying to calm his breathing.

John could feel his anger subside as he saw Sherlock crying.

"…and I love your daddy aswell," the dark- haired man continued, glancing at John. "…but I did a very bad thing and for that that's why I can't live here anymore…"

He turned around, sniffing. "Sorry, I'll go now… I…"

Suddenly he felt a hand grab his arm.

"I didn't say you need to go," John said.

Sherlock stared at the doctor.

"But I thought…"

"Yes, I'm still hurt Sherlock and I can't trust you… but I missed you… more than anything, and the last thing I want is for you to go away again."

Sherlock blinked. "You mean… we could try again?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah. I guess."

Suddenly he was pulled into an embrace.

"Thank you, John" he heard Sherlock whisper into his ear.

The shorter man wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. God he had missed the alpha's smell.

"I punched you in the face and yelled at you… and you're thanking me..?" he chuckled.

"I'm hungry!" Hamish shouted at them, pouting his lips.

John parted himself from Sherlock and smiled at his son.

"I know sweetie," he said. "Why don't you and papa go into the living room to play while I finish with the cooking?"

He gave a quick smile to Sherlock before disappearing into the kitchen.

The nightmare was finally over.

* * *

_asdjklkjhgfdfghjk. Yeah. I might do a sequel if I feel like it. Would anyone like that? Hmm?_


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